Things That Go Bump In The Night
by wilson-percival-higgsbury
Summary: Wilson gives up. Maxwell sees this as an opportunity. But... Things happen.
1. Chapter 1

Wilson laid on the cold, hard ground, breathing deeply. It was almost night, the warmth of the sky draining and being replaced by cold, cold, _cold_. Wilson wanted to sit by the fire and throw logs onto it, or grass, or anything that could burn and save him from the dark, but he couldn't, because he didn't have any of those things. He'd risked shaving his beard to put into the fire, but it didn't last long, and now he was colder than ever.

He shivered, shaking, and started sobbing. He would die. he'd died again and again, but he would always come back to this hell. He wondered vaguely, what would happen if I stopped playing this game that bound me to life? What if I never make another move, and the rules had to change? Of course, it didn't matter. Nothing changed.

Finally, the warmth was gone. The snow under him felt like fire, cold fire, not the good fire he loved and needed. It was terrible, like being stabbed, over and over again, but in that feeling there was relief. A soft coolness, that made his anxieties go away. He looked at the moon, which was rising. It was dark. He wouldn't make it another night. He sobbed, and let out a single laugh. He'd given up completely. He didn't scrounge around for something to burn this time, and this… It felt a lot better than the dread that fell over him then.

Sniffling, he lowered his head into his arms, and felt a soft feeling in his gut. He'd felt it before, and waited for the pain that would follow, harder than any hunger cramp or hound bite. It would come and then go and then come again, making it seem like, maybe it would stop, or maybe daylight was about to come, but he knew better than that now, and he accepted it. He felt his muscles untense.

He almost screamed at the pain. He squealed, feeling it inside of him, pushing out, out, out, and he saw a tiny movement in the night. His mouth opened and more wisps came out. He didn't scream, but he cried, and he smiled. Another start, he thought, to try again.

He closed his eyes, waiting for pain again. It came, like being hit by a truck, but the truck had knives attached to it, and those knives were flaming hot, but at the same time cold, cold like ice that stabbed at him. But the pain… It was dulled, which had never happened before.

He realized he had stopped crying, but wisps still come from his stomach and back, and the deep exhaustion that came from death was still there, but… He didn't hurt. What had happened? He was dying, he knew that, he fumbled with the idea in his mind, but why didn't it hurt? How many times had he died like this? It always hurt, always, always, always. He didn't wonder about it, and he couldn't, because he was dying. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, knowing faintly that it would be his last before he was revived again, and let the breath out. All at once, everything stopped, and Wilson couldn't think.


	2. Chapter 2

As he regained consciousness, he waited for his limbs to regain feeling and readied them for the feeling of the ground and the hot, unwelcoming warmth of the sun, but it wasn't there. His eyes, still closed, did not burn from the sun's rays, and his body felt… Warm. Not warm like the sun beating down on him, forcing him to wake up, saying that they would leave soon and he would be left in the dark. It was soft, like blankets piled upon blankets, and the ground under him felt like the softness of a bed.

He heard crackling. Was he in a forest fire? He had spawned in unfortunate situations before, but it didn't feel like the hotness of an uncontrolled fire. If anything, it reminded him of his family's old home, sitting by the fireplace and drinking hot cocoa. He could almost smell it… It was so warm and soft, and he didn't want to get up, he just wanted to sleep forever. And so he slept.

When he woke up, a door was being slammed open. He sat up, eyes wide open. He saw a man. Tall, and very skinny, with a sharp, intimidating face. Wilson felt as if he'd seen the face before. The man had an angry expression on his face, which showed his almost sharp looking teeth. Wilson shivered, his teeth chattering, utterly afraid of the man in the doorway. Doorway? Wilson's head snapped, looking around the room. It was a bedroom, and Wilson was, in fact, sitting in the bed. He realized he had fallen asleep in the bed. Was this the man's room? Was that why he was angry?  
"W-who are you? What do you w-want?" Wilson squealed, holding the blankets up to his face to try to hide his fear, but it wasn't working. The man suddenly smiled, his teeth gleaming, and Wilson wondered if it was actually a man, or if it was a shape shifting hound, bent on trying to bite out Wilson's throat. From what he'd seen, the odds were actually quite high.

"Oh, you don't know who I am?" The man asked, taking his hand off the door knob. Wilson realized that he must have slammed the door open. "Even after I saved you from death so many times? Oh, Wilson…" The man said. Wilson's head tilted. Saved him from death? But he had died so many times. This man had not saved him from anything. Unless…

"You… You're the one… Bring me back to life, aren't you?" Wilson suddenly felt anger, pouring into him like lava, making him hot in the inside, and the only way to cool down was to punch the man in the face. Wilson didn't want help. He wanted to go home, and if that never happened, he wanted to at least be released from this terrible game.

"Oh, you're so smart, aren't you? Yes, I have been saving you from the dark, dark hands of death when you could still be saved, before your soul leaves your body." Wilson grit his teeth. This man, whom he did not know the name of, was saying that he had saved Wilson. No, he had not saved Wilson. He had made Wilson's life a living hell. What had Wilson done to deserve this? He thought for a moment.

"Where you… The one who made me make the machine?" Wilson asked quietly. The man nodded. That's where he recognized the face. From when the machine activated, and did he know that voice from when he respawned? "Why… Why am I here?" Wilson asked, raising his voice.

"Well, I noticed you were running out of hope," The man said, and Wilson remembered when he had accepted his death. "And if you lose hope, then it wouldn't be very fun, would it?" Oh. It really was a game. Wilson thought that he was the only one seeing it as a game, and that everyone else saw it as life. But he knew now that this was a game, and one that he was losing. "So, why don't we make a deal?" The man smiled.

"Look, last time you talked to me you basically sent me to hell, and I don't even know you're name! Why would I ever make a deal with you?" Wilson asked, staring at the man. The man looked back at him, smiling.

"Well, that's why you're here. If you accept the deal, you'll be thrown back into the wild, but with a goal. If you can make the portal again, then you can stay here. I'll be long gone. All you need to do is survive long enough to find the portal parts, and then you can stay here, for as long as you want." Wilson thought for a moment.

"What, I get to stay in this bedroom?" He asked. The man laughed.

"No, this is just one part of what could be yours. There's lots to see. You have a week to decide whether you want the chance of owning everything or…" The man snapped his hand, and Wilson understood. Right now, the latter was a good option, but he had yet to see everything.

"I'll… Think about it." Wilson said. If it was possible, the man's smile widened more.

"Okay, enjoy your stay!" The man turned out of the door.  
"W-wait! Aren't you going to show me around?" Wilson squeaked, not wanting to be alone again after so long.

"No, but I will be around, if you can find me." He said, still in the doorway.

"Um… Can you tell me your name, before you go?" Wilson asked. He should know his host's name.

"It's Maxwell. See you, pal." And Wilson was alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson, not knowing what to do, looked around the room. The wallpaper was a nice color of yellowish beige, which reminded him of his family's home. There was, in fact, a fireplace directly opposite of him and his (?) bed. The room was framed with brown wood. A wardrobe sat next to the bed, and on top was a cup of hot chocolate and a bag of chips. Realizing he was hungry and wanting to take his mind off things, he grabbed the chips and started eating. He hadn't had chips in… How long ago had he built the portal?  
That got him thinking. What had happened while he was gone? Did his family miss him? Has science changed at all? Where people looking for him? Too many questions filled his mind as he ate the chips, staring into the distance. He realized he should do something other than eating chips in bed.  
He got out of bed, stretching. He didn't feel pressure to survive, to build a fire and a base and weapons. Everything was alright. He went to the door and opened it. A hallway stretched out before him, with many doors sprinkled around. Wilson had no idea where he was, or where the mysterious Maxwell was, too. He made a soft "Hhhhh…" noise as he looked in the hallway. Carefully, he walked down the hallway, which opened up to two more hallways. His "Hhhh…" noise got louder as he looked around in confusion. How big was the place he was staying at? Where was he even staying at?

He walked to the right hallway, hoping to find somewhere he could find food at. The hallway opened up into a big room with several chairs, a medium sized table, and a radio on the table. Wilson sat down on one of the chairs, which was blue with darker blue stripes, and sighed. The chair was nice, but in a short while Wilson was bored. Where the heck was Maxwell?

The room was very nice looking, but you could only scan details for a short amount of time until it becomes boring, so he stood up and walked towards another hallway entrance. Another long hallway, but Wilson could see bright light at the end of it. Wilson smiled and ran towards it, forgetting that he had no pressure to find important stuff. He found a room with a long, long table, but with only two chairs, both on the opposite sides of the table.

Wilson made a happy "Aha!" noise, and ran to one of the chairs, but stopped halfway there as he saw Maxwell sitting in it. Wilson nearly fell down from how fast he stopped walking, or at least tried to stop walking, and he just ended up sliding on the floor and making a fool of himself.

"Oh, hey, pal. Are you hungry already? Huh." Maxwell asked, glaring at Wilson in a way that almost seemed friendly but really just scared him. "I forgot how much you need to eat when you need to." WIlson's head tilted.

"You don't need to eat?" Wilson asked, genuinely curious and forgetting how angry he was at Maxwell. Maxwell shrugged.

"I can eat, I just don't need to, unlike you." He said. Wilson realized Maxwell had a plate in front of him. He didn't notice how long he was staring at it, and when he looked back at Maxwell, Maxwell was watching him with a raised eyebrow. Wilson blushed, realizing how hungry he was as his stomach grumbled, but Maxwell didn't make any offers to give him any food.

Wilson wanted to ask for food, but… He was honestly quite afraid of asking, and even if he could, how would he ask? He looked at Maxwell's plate again (which held several small sandwiches) awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"U-uh… Um…" Maxwell glared at Wilson and picked up a sandwich.

"Do you want one?" He asked. Wilson nodded happily.  
"Hmmm." Maxwell said, and then took a bite out of the sandwich. Wilson looked at him sadly. How dare Maxwell taunt him! Maxwell finished the sandwich while Wilson waited, sometimes making pathetic whimpering noises and fiddling with his hands. He was really hungry.

Occasionally, Maxwell would look at Wilson and smile a large grin, knowing how hungry Wilson was. This continued for a while, Maxwell eating several sandwiches in front of Wilson. As Wilson watched patiently, he saw Maxwell's face… It was hard to describe. He looked surprised and something else that Wilson couldn't read from his face. Maxwell had a sandwich pinned by his long index finger and thumb.

Maxwell snorted, turned away, and waved the sandwich in Wilson's face. It took a moment for Wilson to realize Maxwell wasn't taunting him, but instead offering him the sandwich. He cautiously grabbed it, and said a soft "Thank you…" as Maxwell's hand recoiled. Maxwell grunted in response. He then continued eating as if nothing had happened, but with less glances towards the small man.

Wilson, with the sandwich still in hand, looked at it. He hadn't had civilized food in… He couldn't remember. Yes, he used his crock pot, but it felt different. This was real food made with real ingredients, not magical meats or strange eggs! He took a bite out of it, careful not to eat too quick.

It was the best thing he had eaten in such a long time. He made a small noise unintentionally. Maxwell made a low chuckling noise at how excited Wilson was. After Wilson was finished eating the sandwich, he looked at the plate, which was now empty. Maxwell looked at Wilson's sad face. Wilson must be really hungry. What had he eaten out in the wild? Maxwell was sure he had given Wilson enough food if he worked for it.

Maxwell looked at the plate, thinking. Suddenly, a plume of smoke covered the plate as he stood up, and when the smoke cleared, there was another plate of sandwiches, but smaller. He walked in the opposite direction of where Wilson was.

"W-wait, aren't you going to eat these?" Wilson asked, attempting to follow Maxwell but his legs were sore from standing in place for such a long time. Maxwell waved his hand dismissively at him. Wilson blinked, and then smiled.

After eating (which Wilson did rather cautiously, wondering if Maxwell was actually allowing him to eat), Wilson walked slowly towards the room he had woken up in, making sure he went the right way. As he approached the room, he saw Maxwell leave it, turn to look at him, and then smoothly walk in the other direction. Wilson wondered vaguely what Maxwell was doing.  
As he entered, he could smell the hot chocolate smell again. He realized he had forgotten to drink the hot chocolate in the morning, but steam was rising from the cup still. He walked over, and attached on the cup was a note.

 _Drink it this time!_ in smooth letters danced across the paper. Wilson, not thinking twice, grabbed the cup and downed the hot chocolate, not worrying about poisons or traps. The hot chocolate made him sleepy and warm and he breathed deeply before getting under the bed's blankets, knowing that he was safe.


	4. Chapter 4

(I WANTED TO WRITE MORE BUT I WROTE TOO MUCH FOR THE FIRST PART AAAAAAAA)

Wilson woke up in a panic. Where was he? As he sat up, he remembered Maxwell and wondered if it had just been a dream. Looking around, he realized it wasn't a dream. As he calmed down, he looked at the bed sheets. They were a cream color. He vaguely wondered if it was cream when he had fallen asleep.  
His bed was completely messed up, and the sheets were warm. Wilson realized he must have been thrashing around in his sleep. Stretching, he looked around the room to see if anything had changed. His eyes locked on something on the wall. And he stared back.

A mirror! He hadn't seen a mirror in… Oh, how long! He stood up, his legs aching, and approached the mirror, smoothing his hair and smiling widely. He looked disgusting, but he still liked to look at himself. The shape of his face and the color of his pale skin incapacitated him. His hair had somehow stayed nearly the same from the last time he saw it, which was surely impossible.

Wilson saw a movement at the back of the room, reflecting off the mirror. Turning around, he saw it was a dark purple smoke cloud. As the cloud drifted apart, Maxwell's shape replaced it. Wilson glared at the man, remembering what he had done, and how he had made Wilson never look at a mirror again (there are no mirrors in the wild).

"Hi, Maxwell." Wilson said solemnly. "What do you want?" Maxwell's grin made Wilson irrationally angry.

"Well, I felt like you should notice the changes in the room and thank me." He closed his eyes, waiting for Wilson to say something. Wilson thought for a moment. Yes, he had noticed the mirror. But, Maxwell said 'changes', clearly not 'change'. Change?

Looking down, Wilson realized he was wearing a completely different shirt. It was like his previous shirt, but a more lively shade of red and clear from dirt and mud. Wilson's face lit up bright red.

"What! Did you change my shirt while I was sleeping?!" Wilson asked in horrified voice. The idea of Maxwell touching him in any way was already disturbing, considering his bony, bony hands and lanky body, but _taking his shirt off, too?_ Wilson almost fainted.

"Yes, I also changed the bed sheets. You need to take a bath, Higgsbury." Wilson squinted at the man, still blushing bright red. First he undressed Wilson, and then he insulted him, too!

"You should tell me before you touch me, ever, and I could have done it myself!" Wilson scoffed, turning away, still blushing. He was both disgusting and disturbed by Maxwell _touching him while he slept._ Maxwell waved his hand dismissively.

"Eh. I'll be going now." He said, and smoothed out his shirt. Wilson watched the man leave, his blush finally fading from his face, and he felt calm again. 'What a jerk…' he thought.

Other than the new mirror and bed sheets, everything in the room was the same, except for the food on his wardrobe. This time, there was a bowl of soup and what appeared to be an off brand soda. Grabbing the soup and sitting on the bed, Wilson ate and finished quickly. Wilson was starting to get used to the feeling of being full. He hesitantly grabbed the soda. Reading the ingredients, it seemed like any other soda, and he started chugging it down.

Wincing, he could tell that this soda was incredibly cheap. Wilson didn't even recognize the brand. But, having a carbonated, sugary substance did make him feel a little better. Deciding to do something with his life, he left the room, leaving behind the bowl and soda can for Maxwell to clean up.

Entering the hallway, he searched his memory to find out where he was. If he remembered correctly, he thought as he walked to the end of the corridor… He was correct! The hallway split into two more hallways. Last time, he had gone right and managed to get into some sort of relaxing room, and then to the dining room. So, he went left.

After a short walk, he found his way into what appeared to be a study room. There were bookcases pressed upon the walls (which were dark blue). Books of many colors and different genres were placed in some sort of order that Wilson didn't understand. On one of the sides of the room there was a desk. It had parts where there was dust and parts where the desk was completely clean. Wilson knew from experience that that was a sign Maxwell had been working on papers and had them on the desk for a bit too long.

A dark purple light was positioned to light up the dark part of the desk. Wilson saw that it had no cords and wondered how it worked. Above the actual desk, there was a compartment that seemed to hold papers and pencils. Standing on his toes, he grabbed a few pieces of paper and essentially ruined the paper stack, before grabbing a pencil and pen.

Sitting down at the desk and placing the paper on it seemed to activate the light, which let Wilson see the paper clearly. Grabbing the pencil, he put it over the paper and wondered what he should draw. After a few moments, he decided on monsters that he had seen in Maxwell's world.

After a long time, in which Wilson didn't remember clearly, he had drawn a tallbird, but was having trouble with the legs. Stretching, he looked at the picture he had. It looked like some sort of cartoon character, but drawn really realistically, because that's basically what a tallbird had put most effort into the eye, trying to convey that 'I want to kill you' look, but he personally wouldn't know what it looked like (because Wilson is a sweetie).

Wilson tried to draw the legs quickly, and they looked scratchy, but it worked out. Taking out his black pen, he outlined all the important parts, the beak, legs, face, ect., and put on some terrible shading. It was unprofessional and made hastily with the pencil, but it was good enough.

Carefully, Wilson grabbed the paper in both his hands, moved it to the back of the desk, and grabbed a new paper. Putting the pencil to the paper, he thought for a moment, and then started to draw. In a few moments, he had the chest and head of the werepig. It's mouth was open, showing the large teeth which Wilson knew way too much on how they felt when they bit you. Then, he drew the body, the large claws meant for tearing flesh and the powerful legs that would push them forwards. Wilson tried his best to make the anatomy work, but it still looked a little wonky. He wasn't an artist, he was a scientist!

But, he tried his best to draw different monsters, knowing what they looked like, and highlighting their weapons. Looking at all his drawings (a tallbird, a werepig, two hounds, a rabbit, and a beefalo), Wilson heard a noise. He turned and saw that Maxwell had entered the room.

"Hey, pal, what are you doing here?" Maxwell asked, approaching Wilson. He looked at the drawing of the hound. "Oh, that beast. I remember that one."Wilson's head tilted.

"You know about the hounds?" Wilson asked, looking at the picture. It would make sense. It was Maxwell's world, and he had to populate it with something. Maxwell nodded.

"Yes, but I fear that it has been so long that they have forgotten me as their master." Humming, he grabbed the picture of the tallbird. "This one. An experiment I had… It didn't work out too well."

"What were you trying to do?" Wilson asked. Experiments were right up his alley!

"I tried to make a very large bird. Unfortunately, its eyes and legs grew too much, and it's body changed to support that, which is why it's only an eye and legs. Territorial beasts, aren't they?" Wilson was a bit disappointed that it was a magic experiment, not a science experiment, and he looked back at the drawings.

"I call them tall birds." Wilson said.

"A fitting name." Maxwell replied, nodding. Wilson grabbed the beefalo picture. Maxwell scoffed.

"Useless animals, those beefalo. The only thing they do is eat." He said in an almost disgusted voice. Wilson looked at Maxwell.

"Really? How about the four times I've died by beefalo?" Maxwell glared back at him.

"How did you get killed by those lazy animals?" Maxwell asked.

"Okay, they don't attack unless you attack them. Which I learned the hard way. I also learned that they go into heat sometimes." Maxwell nodded.

"Well. Either you're just very stupid. or they've become at least a bit

dangerous." Realizing that Maxwell had called him stupid, Wilson opened his mouth to object, and then closed it as he realized he was probably right.

"Of course I'm stupid! I've never seen beefalo. I've never read anything about beefalo. I'm expected to be stupid, so stop acting like it's a bad thing." Wilson snapped at Maxwell. Maxwell paused for a moment.

"When did I say it was a bad thing? Stupid is just a harsher way of telling someone they don't know something, and I say everything in a harsh manner." Maxwell mused, and Wilson realized that, yes, Maxwell never really said it in a bad manner.

"It still sounded rude…" He muttered, putting the beefalo picture back onto the table.

"Well, sorry, pal. Not everyone's going to treat you like a king." Maxwell scoffed, and then started to leave the room. Wilson, watching him leave, stretched before exiting the room a bit behind him. He split off in some different direction that Wilson didn't care to pay attention to, and found his room quickly.

Nothing in the room looked as if it had changed to Wilson except for the food on his wardrobe. There was half a steak and some sort of vegetable that Wilson didn't recognize. Next to that, there was a glass of milk. Wilson quickly drank the milk and half the steak and a few of the vegetables before laying down in the bed, feeling safe and warm.


End file.
